Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
I have her in my arms now, and I’m never, ever letting her go.
9
FIG
After getting the ring, it’s time to psyche myself up to tell my parents that I’m getting married out of nowhere to a man I haven’t seen in four years.
A little buttering up goes a long way. I got a nice big bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey and a fluffy bouquet of roses, the most elaborate the florist could make on such short notice. We ride back up to the Rough house, and get out. Some smoke is coming from the backyard.
“Fire?” Hank asks.
I sniff. “Nah, my father is slow-smoking something. That’s how he likes his brisket.”
“Your family sounds better and better by the day, Fig. I love a good brisket.”
“And my dad makes the best brisket you’ll ever have.”
“Just gotta hope he isn’t pissed at me for running off with his little girl. Don’t think I’ll get much brisket if he’s raging at me.”
I let out a long sigh. “I’m doubting that's the case. Or at least hoping that’s not the case. My father has always been supportive of us kids being our own people and not just doing what he wants us to do.”
“Easy to say that, but three of your brothers ended up following in his footsteps.”
“Yet they sent me off to study fashion. Hardly in line with the family business.”
I worry greatly about my family shooting my plans full of holes. Pointing out how small businesses are always threatened with failure, and how maybe Home isn’t big enough to support its own bespoke fashion boutique.
I love my parents. I know they’re supportive. But I don’t think it’s madness to have worries about what they’ll think of everything.
I head into the house, and my father comes in from the back, wearing his apron, and sees me. “There’s my little girl,” he says, squishing me in his bear-like hug.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Are you joining us again tonight, Hank? We’re always happy to have more people at dinner.”
“You could say I’m joining you, yeah.”
“Fig, my darling!” my mother says as she comes down from her room. “Oh, and who might those roses be for?”
I walk over and present them to her. “For you, Mom. For being the greatest mom who ever mommed.”
She accepts the flowers, but has an eyebrow cocked.
I turn around and pull the bottle out of the gift bag and present it to my father. “And a bottle of Jack Daniel’s for you.”
He takes it, and also eyes it suspiciously. “What horrible thing did you do, Fig?”
“What? I can’t just give gifts to my lovely parents apropos of nothing?”
They both stand together, arms crossed. So much for buttering them up with gifts.
I’m trying to work up the courage to tell them the truth, but it’s hard. Harder than admitting that I broke Uncle Angus’s window with a soccer ball when I was a kid.
Fortunately, I’m not here alone. Hank grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me close. “We’re getting married.”
Mom and Dad look at one another in shock. “Already?”
“Fig and I see eye to eye on a lot of things, and we’ve decided we’re not going to mess around and deny ourselves what we really want. We’re getting married as soon as we can get it all planned out.”
I timidly show my parents the ring, but they're still a bit awestruck.
“Aren’t you going back to Los Angeles in a month or so, Fig?” my mother asks. “Getting married seems like it might get in the way of your plans, doesn’t it?”
I can’t keep running away from the truth. I have to tell them, because the longer I wait, the more likely they’ll do something like rent an expensive cabin just to be near me for Christmas. “I’m not going back to Los Angeles, Mom.”
“What do you mean? I thought that was always your dream. Don’t tell me you’re giving it all up for a man.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not like that at all. I’ve felt this way for a while, and I’ve been meaning to tell you ever since I got back, before Hank showed up and won my heart so quickly.”
“Fig, dear, you went on for years about your dream of being a fashion designer and taking over the world.”
A tear is in my eye, but I keep shaking my head. “That was before I left Home, Mom. That was before I learned how rotten and corrupt the fashion world is. I came back, and realized how much I miss this place. And remembered what I truly love about fashion. How I want a personal touch in my projects, and not just trying to appease some crotchety old men.”
“Jeez, make me feel bad for being a crotchety old man,” my father says, scratching his head.
“Those guys are disgusting, Dad. Really, really disgusting.”
“So, really bad co-workers, got it.”